


say what you want (to satisfy yourself)

by wearethewitches



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Blanket Permission, F/M, Gen, St. Agnes Orphanage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 19:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15420045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: au where daisy is an actual philinda baby(i'm just going to leave this here, in case anyone wants to pick this up, k?)





	say what you want (to satisfy yourself)

The doorbell chimes quietly.

Sister Margaret looks up from her paper at the clock. As if she were in some ridiculous novel, she can see it’s getting close to midnight. Letting out a quiet sigh, she places her newspaper down, heading for the entrance. Surprising her for once, the mother is there with her child, sitting on the steps, back to the open door. In the dim porch light, Sister Margaret can see a small, smooth head, the crown of the little one’s head pulsing ominously.

 _Can’t be more than a few weeks old,_ Sister Margaret thinks, listening as the mother speaks to her child in what Sister Margaret thinks is Mandarin – one of the little girls last year who lived in Saint Agnes’ Orphanage for a time was still transitioning from Mandarin to English and Sister Margaret can remember bare snippets. But a child’s mixed, incomprehensible ramblings are nothing in comparison to a fully-fluent speaker.

“Do you need help?” Sister Margaret asks in a lull. The woman nods her affirmative before standing, cradling the baby gently in her grasp. “Come inside.”

They go back to the office. The mother sits down on a chair, adjusting the sleeping child. Sister Margaret gathers the correct paperwork in a bundle.

“Tell me your story,” the nun asks.

“I work for the government. I…I have my gun license for work, if you get the gist,” she says. “I and my partner crossed a line during a…business trip. I thought about retiring after finding out she was coming. I’ve decided against it, in the end.”

“The system is a tough place for children of any age or ethnicity,” Sister Margaret says, meeting the woman’s eyes, trying to get her meaning through without going further. Luckily, the woman seems savvy, clever – at least she didn’t leave her daughter on the step, like some. Sister Margaret thinks it’s a shame, when the woman shakes her head, but it’s her own choice and the nun goes down a different track. “Does she have a name? Are you supplying contact details?”

“I gave her a name yesterday, but I don’t think she should keep it. I don’t want her to find me, later. My life is too difficult- _dangerous_ ,” she corrects herself. It’s a sobering word. Sister Margaret thinks of possible government jobs that require guns, that are too _dangerous_ to have ties and families, then tries to push it from her mind. “She was born eight days ago. I’d like her middle name to be Julie.”

“Everything else decided by us, then?” Sister Margaret confirms, taking a moment to calculate the date before writing it out and penning _JULIE_ in the second half of the first names box. “Would you like to know?”

“No. Do I have to fill those out?”

“To the best of your ability. You’re legally required to do nothing, but the more we have, the more we can give,” Sister Margaret replies, before handing them over with a pen. She watches the woman – who could have been twenty-one or thirty-five, for all Sister Margaret could judge – fill out the forms, holding onto her child like she won’t ever let her go. As the pages turn and the mother shifts her daughter around, a corner of blanket flips over and Sister Margaret tilts her head just so to see the flower pattern

 _Daisies,_ she thinks, an idea forming. They always try to let the children keep some items as they grow. Baby blankets aren’t so uncommon to keep, up until the point where they’re either taken to be used by younger children who need them, or destroyed by other children. _Or the child themselves,_ Sister Margaret reminds herself. In her forty years a nun at Saint Agnes’, she’s seen all sorts of children.

 _Daisies,_ she thinks again. _Julie. Daisy Julie. Daisy Julie..._ There’s a system for last names, rotating throughout the alphabet. Sister Margaret glances at the wall, where a paper sheet is tacked to the pin-board. Faintly, she can see the letter that the pinned arrow is pointing at. _S – Stanley? Shaw? Simms? Not Smith, that’s a rule…_

“I think I’ve filled out what I can,” the woman interrupts her brain-storming. Sister Margaret glances at the papers, before looking properly, sifting through them. It’s partially habit to take so long, partially because she’s half wanting to be in bed, despite it being her turn to take graveyard shift. The habit part comes from letting parents take more time to think about what they’re doing.

From how the mother holds her child, looking at her so gently…and crying, Sister Margaret thinks this one could be a toss-up as she avoids looking at the mothers signature, which she’s filled out in both English and Chinese characters. Sister Margaret signs all the papers like she should, stamping it and placing it in a fresh paper folder, to go into the filing cabinet after she’s taken out the press-copies underneath the forms, for government archives. _I’ll give it a week,_ she thinks, before sitting back in her seat.

At some point, Sister Margaret falls into a light nap, blinking awake when the woman moves, standing up. She holds her daughter out and after nodding solemnly, Sister Margaret takes her. At the change of hands, the little girl – _Daisy Julie_ – starts to cry, obviously recognising that Sister Margaret isn’t her mother somehow, probably by smell, but perhaps because Sister Margaret has larger hands. The mother falters once, before muttering what might have been a goodbye in Mandarin and leaving swiftly.

When the week is up and Sister Margaret completes the papers, readying them for filing, she looks at the mother’s signature and finishes Daisy’s name.

* * *

“Is she okay?” Matt asks Stick as he pauses in the doorway, listening to the baby cry. She’s the baby that hasn’t stopped crying except to eat and sleep all week. His mentor huffs.

“Babies cry. She probably just got separated from her mother. It happens. We move on. Grow up. Now let’s get going.”

They leave, but for the rest of the day, Matt can’t stop himself from hearing the girl. It’s like he can’t turn her off and when he finally tells Stick, the man grumbles and takes him back to the orphanage.

“When you stop hearing her, when you let go, I’ll be back,” Stick says before leaving. Matt wants to ask him how to turn it off, how to _let go_ , but Stick has already gone.

He goes to his room. The girl still hasn’t stopped crying. Matt can hear the nuns fussing over her, wondering whether to call the hospital. He thinks on what Stick said – that she was probably separated from her mother. His heart clenches painfully, knowing how she’s feeling. It’s been nearly a year since his dad died, but Matt still wants him back, even knowing it’s impossible. Sometimes, he dreams his dad’ll show up on the orphanage doorstep and take him away.

 _Or maybe Stick will take me away,_ he thinks treacherously, before pushing aside that thought. Stick said, _we move on_. To Matt, that doesn’t sound like _replace them_.

Matt finds himself sitting up, purposefully listening to the baby. “She’s too young to move on,” he says to himself. Babies don’t understand – they aren’t proper human beings yet. Matt bites his lip, before wandering through the orphanage, following her cries.

“Child,” Sister Patricia puts a hand on his shoulder as he comes near the door. “The baby is just upset. No need to worry about her.”

“She’s all alone,” Matt says.

“Sister’s Margaret and Agatha are with her. This has been happening for a while now. Just go to your room.” Sister Patricia scurries off, muttering about whether to call the ambulance or to make an appointment. When she turns the corner, Matt goes into the room.

“Matthew, you shouldn’t be here,” Sister Margaret says gently.

“Can I hold her?” asks Matt. “She doesn’t really understand what’s happening – she doesn’t know.”

“No, she doesn’t…there’s a chair along the wall, to your left.” Matt nods, finding the wall to the left, following it with his hand until his cane hits wood. “That’s it. Sit down, now.”

Matt does as he’s told, waiting patiently. When Sister Margaret places the baby girl in his lap, at first it’s a bit much, having her screaming so close to his ears. But he ignores it, making up a plan as he goes along. Holding her a little tighter, he starts to whisper to her, talking about the city. He tells her about Lady Liberty and how she’s ninety-three metres tall – how there’s two towers in the middle of Manhattan that get called _the World Trade Centres._

At some point, she starts to quiet down, screams dying away as she listens to him speak. Matt gently takes his left hand out from around her, reaching tentatively for her face. He’s only ever touched his dad’s face while blind – he can remember rough and blistered skin, hard cartilage and stubble, sometimes raw flesh and the sticky warmth of blood. The baby is different. She’s smooth and soft, her head squishy and beating in time with her heart.

“You’re so weird,” he tells her, finding her nose and wiggling it. She gurgles and he thinks that the noises she makes and the small weight of her in his arms is a better method of seeing than stroking her face.

“Well done, Matt,” Sister Margaret applauds lightly.

“I’ll protect her,” he promises. “Does she have a name?”

“Daisy,” Sister Margaret says. “Her name is Daisy Julie May.”

“Hi Daisy. I’m Matthew Murdock.”

* * *

“- _a fire has completely consumed the building. From the sudden explosions, police suspect foul play, but thankfully so far, the fire department has recovered zero bodies or injured children or staff. The online schedule for Saint Agnes’ Orphanage, available on their website, states that the young residents were supposed to visit the park today-_ ”

Daisy turns the network over to Disney Channel. “If I wanted to listen to the news, Matt, I would listen to the news.”

“You’ve got a report to write,” Matt says, using the spare remote to switch it back as Daisy groans. “Come on, it isn’t that bad.”

“You didn’t grow up in Saint Agnes’, you just lived there for a while,” Daisy replies dourly. “My file is in there, somewhere, burning.”

“Any good reporter knows that the government keeps copies of everything,” Matt scolds gently as he types up his own paper – his first, for his second year of university. At twenty-one, Matt’s doing pretty well for himself, in his stately opinion. He’s doing well in university, he doesn’t have massive debts because of how much money his dad scrimped and saved towards his college fund slash trust fund – and most importantly of all, he has custody of now-eleven year old Daisy. “I thought you wanted to be a news lady?”

“Not anymore,” Daisy grumbles, before throwing a cushion at the TV. “Stupid fire. Who would want to bomb an orphanage, anyway? The only people who live there are kids.”

“Who knows. Now either start taking notes or switch to a different news channel.”

Daisy huffs, before starting to take notes on the coffee table. Quiet falls between them. In some ways the quiet is nice – in others, it isn’t. Matt winces as his hearing accidentally synchronises with an ambulance siren halfway across New York, focusing on Daisy’s heartbeat. Eventually, once Daisy’s pencil stops scratching against paper and she turns the TV off, Matt quietly speaks to her.

“Your file wasn’t in the orphanage, Daisy. It’s in my room.”

“It’s _what?_ Where?” Daisy scrambles to her feet, feet pounding on the wooden flooring, the light fixtures in the apartment below them rattling faintly. Matt sighs.

“In my bedside cupboard, under Foggy’s magazines.”

“Foggy has magazines?” the door opens and a few seconds later, Daisy shrieks in horror. “Oh my _god,_ that’s _porn!_ ”

Without his permission, Matt feels a smirk forming as Daisy keeps saying _ew_ under her breath as she moves the magazines, taking out the folder with her name on it. _I have to tell Foggy about that later._ Matt can’t decide whether Foggy will laugh his head off or be mortified that his boyfriend’s little sister found his porn stash. Daisy eventually slams the bedside cupboard closed, coming back to punch him in the arm.

“I didn’t know they were porn-”

“You’re a lying liar who lies, Matt,” Daisy hisses, before sitting down beside him and opening up her file. A few minutes later, she speaks softly. “Oh.”

“Oh? Oh what?”

“I…I actually have my mom’s last name. She signed- she-” Daisy starts shaking. Matt puts his laptop down quickly, wrapping his arms around her. She grips the file tightly to her chest, holding back tears as she shudders in his grip. Matt wants to speak, but he doesn’t know what to say.

Foggy’s heartbeat attracts his attention, however, as he comes up the stairs to their level. The keys soon rattle in the door, before it opens and Foggy comes inside.

“What’s happening? Daisy-maisy, what’s up, lil’ sis?” Foggy comes over, dropping his bag against the wall as he sits on Daisy’s other side, plucking the file from her grip. “Ooh, saw this, did you?”

“My- my mom’s name-”

“M-dot-May. Huh, well what about that? You’ve got the same last name! Aw, come here,” Foggy joins their hug, squeezing her tightly, grinning. Daisy lets out a small giggle. “Good! Laughing means good stuff! That’s so cool, Daisy! You and your mom aren’t so far apart, now! Mystery May and Daisy May! You’re like a superhero duo!”

“Superspies,” Daisy corrects, making finger guns. “My mom’s a government superspy with a gun.”

“Superspies, got it.”

 _Thanks, Foggy,_ Matt thinks at his significant other, leaning around behind Daisy on automatic. Foggy kisses him at his familiar movement, to more of Daisy’s _ew_ sounds and some fake retching too, for drama’s sake alone – every time they sit like this, they make out eventually and it’s a game almost to Daisy to come up with new, dramatic ways to express her disgust.

“Wait until you’re our age, kiddo and you’ll see the world is full of far more gross things than making out,” Foggy proclaims.

“She’s already seen the porn collection,” Matt winces, before Foggy groans in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“I _told_ you we should have hidden the file under her bed.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to figure out how to switch major so I can invent child-safe brain bleach. I am a bad parent.”

“Don’t worry, Foggy,” Daisy pats his knee. “You’re the weird uncle who smokes weed, not my dad.”

“You should not be aware that I smoke weed.”

“Too bad, I’m smart.”

“You bet you are,” Matt says, ruffling her hair. “Now tell me what your file says, other than how you’re actually a _May._ ”

* * *

To be honest, she should have expected the suits, at some point.

The bag is dragged off her head, making her hair go in her face. Daisy wrinkles her nose and shakes it out as she’s sat down on a chair roughly, grinning slightly upon seeing her hair-job. _I should have gotten blonde dip-dye ends years ago. I look awesome._

“You’re making a big mistake,” she warns.

The big block of a guy looks her up and down as he moves back into position. “You don’t look that big.”

Daisy’s chin drops slightly, but before she can fire back, the second guy – older and more IT worker than hardcore agent – speaks up with a genial smile that finds absurdly genuine.

“Sorry for the lack of finesse. Agent Ward here has had a little history with your group...the Rising Tide.”

“I’m undercover,” Daisy claims. “Check with the Bureau, though you’ll find I’m only talked about on paper.” At their shared look, Daisy grins. “Come on, guys, you really think we didn’t have our eye on the Rising Tide as well? They’re terrorists, they hack us, it’s our job to clean up.”

“What if you’re lying?” Agent Ward questions.

“Then I’m lying. Just a little warning though,” Daisy leans forwards, “you hurt me, kill me or compromise my mission, my guys will _not_ back down.” The way she says it makes it sound like she’s talking about the FBI, to be fair – but Daisy knows that Matt and Foggy would _never_ let SHIELD get away with black-bagging her, so she’s telling the truth.

The men share another look, before the older one sits down across from her.

“Are they blackmailing you?”

Daisy blinks. “What?”

“Miss, to be frank, you don’t look like you’ve graduated high school.”

 _Oh my god._ “I am… _definitely_ over twenty-one. Seriously. I’m like, twenty-four. Twenty-five. The nuns had to guess my age, _so…_ ”

“You’re not a very good liar,” Agent Ward grimaces on Daisy’s behalf.

“Objection. I am a really good liar. I managed to make you think I was from the FBI – or was that the truth? You’ll never know, because I’m _that_ good of a liar.”

“I think you’re bullshitting us,” Agent Ward says. “What’s your name?”

“Daisy.”

“Your _real_ name.”

“Wouldn’t know, my mom left me on the step of an orphanage.” Daisy sighs over-exaggeratedly, pouting and leaning forwards, chin resting on her hands. “Pity me.”

“Miss Daisy,” the senior agent interrupts, “We need to know the name of a certain…hero.”

“What makes you think I know that?” Daisy questions, raising an eyebrow, still leaning on the desk.

“Well, you made a little mistake,” says the agent. “The phone you filmed the hooded hero with had the same cryptographic signature as a few of The Rising Tide posts.”

“I’m sitting in the centre of your secret headquarters.” Daisy points out. “So, I think it’s _you_ guys who made the mistake. What is this? A plane? I got inside and by now, you’ve discovered you can’t beat the encryption on my equipment, so you got nothing.”

“We have a fairly strong coincidence...you being on the scene right before it went up in flames. Want to tell me what my team is gonna find out? How did you know the hooded man was in the building?”

“Did you blow it up to draw him out?” adds Agent Ward creepily.

“Did _you?_ ” Daisy shoots back.

“That’s not our style,” the other agent assures.

“I was just kidnapped by your ‘ _style’,_ ” Daisy sits up, getting into the hard material. “SHIELD covered up New Mexico, Project Pegasus. Of course you’d be covering up Centipede.” Remembering her FBI cover and taking note of their latest Shared Glance, she adds: “Because seriously, this shit has got to stop. Your secrets aren’t secret enough if the Bureau knows about them. If you can’t handle your own projects, allowing civilian terrorist organisations to know there’s something to hide in the first place so they can hack you, then you shouldn’t have projects in the first place.”

“What’s Centipede?”

Daisy pauses. “Wait, what? You guys don’t _know?_ But we thought it was another SHIELD project…” ‘We’ being the Royal We.

“So you know nothing?” Ward questions.

“I don’t know much, but I know enough to ask questions. I had no reference for Centipede, nothing came up on our…databases…I was looking into it.”

“What does your boss think?” the senior agent asks.

“Nothing. I haven’t told anyone yet, uh,” Daisy tries to think up a scenario, squirming slightly under their scrutiny. “My- our- the check-in, where I talk to my bosses, it’s every few months. The last one was two weeks ago, before I found anything on Centipede. I was practically nothing, but then it all disappeared, basically. But I’m like, _really_ super-awesome with computers so I traced the access-point MAC address to that blown-up building.”

“What were you after?” Ward asks, pushing hard. Now Daisy is good under pressure. She’s sassy, sarcastic. Unfortunately, she’s not good at lying under pressure, reverting back to her roots – which in this case, is the Rising Tide.

“Truth,” she glares at him. “People need to know what kind of dangerous things other people are up to, so they can save themselves from the fall-out when it all goes wrong.”

“You’re pretty into your character,” the senior agent notes amusedly. Daisy hesitates, looking back at him before coming up with an uneasy reply.

“Well, I’ve been like this for a while…”

“It’s fine. Perhaps SHIELD just trains its agents better than the Bureau,” the agent stands, smiling as she stays silent. “Agent Ward, with me.”

* * *

“Do you really think she’s from the FBI?”

“No,” Phil states, walking through the Bus lounge. “She has no loyalty. Every FBI agent I’ve ever met, unless they transferred, sticks up for the FBI. Even civilians think the FBI is the best around the block. Also, she is _not_ twenty-five.” He opens a cupboard, taking out the truth serum. “But she’s an asset.”

“Yes, she is _such_ an a-” Ward pauses and Phil finds it funny how he thought Phil said _ass._ The girl might be a pain right now, but hopefully that’ll change, eventually. _No loyalty,_ he thinks, _except maybe to the Rising Tide. But I can change that._ “An asset?”

“We don't know anything about her. Do you appreciate how often that happens? That never happens. We need...” Phil opens the box, taking out the serum-gun, “-what she knows.”

* * *

The senior agent comes back in with a gun. A syringe-gun. “This is QNB-T Sixteen. It’s the top-shelf Martini of Sodium Pentothal derivatives. It’s a brand-new and extremely potent truth drug. Don't worry. The effects only last about an hour. We just want to make sure you’re telling the truth, FBI agent or not. Do you mind?”

“You can’t do that.”

“SHIELD-FBI Interagency Handbook, page one hundred and six, section C, paragraph five.” The senior agent recites, making Daisy feel like there’s a stone in her gut. She sinks into her chair, Agent Ward’s hands clamping down on her shoulders. “I’ve had the FBI version used on me before. It wasn’t nice, but to be fair, we’ve got the better scientists. You should meet Fitzsimmons, after we’re done here.”

“Don’t touch me,” Daisy says as he comes around the table. “What if I have an allergic reaction, or something?”

“You’re proving his point,” Ward says, leaning over slightly. “There is no handbook. That’s not a truth-serum. Now that we’ve cleared up that you’re definitely not from the FBI-”

“This _is_ a truth-serum,” the senior agent interrupts, making Daisy panic, “and I fully plan on using it. Adult civilians are-”

“I’m not an adult! You can’t give me drugs, it’s illegal!” Daisy wriggles out of Agent Ward’s grip, getting up and backing away to the door, keeping her eyes on both of them. The senior agent lowers the syringe-gun.

“I knew it. What’s your full name and how old are you?”

“I…I’m not telling you. Just take me back to my van and let me go.”

“If you don’t have any form of ID or papers, we’ll have to drop you off at the immigration office.”

“I- no, I-” Daisy shakes her head, backing into the corner. “Stop it!”

“Your other option,” the senior agent puts the syringe-gun down on the table, coming around to her side of the room, “is to help us. Who’s your guy? We just want to talk to him, maybe get him somewhere safe. We’re not the only ones interested in people with powers. We’d like to contain him, yeah. The next guy will want to exploit him and the guy after that will want to dissect him. You’re just a kid. I’m sure you don’t want to be responsible for that.”

Daisy shakes her head mutely.

The senior agent steps forwards once more, holding out his hand. “I’m Agent Phil Coulson.”

Daisy swallows before reaching out, his hand dwarfing hers. “Daisy. Daisy May.”

“May?” Coulson smiles suddenly. “You’ll have to meet our driver.”

Daisy shrugs, before letting go of his hand, crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously. Briefly, she wonders why he wants her to meet their driver, but other than that she focuses on the big picture – Mike and Ace. Centipede. _They just want to help._

She tells Coulson everything.

* * *

“-the encryption’s coupled to the GPS. Get my van back to that alley and then I’m in business.”

“Agent May here will escort you,” Coulson says, before pointing between them. “May, meet May.”

Daisy glances at the woman, eyes widening briefly because a) _Chinese woman,_ b) _Chinese woman named May_ and c) _Chinese woman named May who has a freaking gun._ Agent May also looks at her with some small amount of disbelief, looking her up and down. Daisy feels like every inch of her is being scrutinised.

“I don’t usually work with kids.”

“Why are you working with them, then?” Daisy points at Fitzsimmons, who immediately take offence.

“Woah-”

“Hey, wait a sec-”

“Enough.” Coulson interrupts the complains. “May Squared, leave – and on your way out, wake up Ward.”

* * *

Thinks go a bit topsy-turvy. For one, Daisy is…kidnapped. Stuff happens and throughout it, Daisy just _really hopes_ that Matt and Foggy don’t see her on YouTube. She hurt them enough when she left.

Worrying about her health and safety when she’s supposed to be _dead?_ Their friends would think them _insane._

Eventually, Mike is taken into custody, Fitzsimmons’ ‘Night-Night gun’ putting him to sleep rather than killing him. Phil even tells Ace and his family that Mike will get to see them again. Then, _well…_

Daisy likes Lola. Daisy likes Lola _a lot._

* * *

Shit happens. Shit _keeps happening_ – but _god,_ out of everything that happened, the most horrifying part was being caught out by _May_ of all people, sleeping with Miles. Well, maybe not horrifying, but certainly something Daisy will never forget. Just the _look_ on Agent May’s face, so disappointed…

“Mind if I keep you company?” Daisy asks after their trip to Utah, when figuring out what was going on with Hannah and Ford is all done. In the cockpit of the plane, May doesn’t answer and Daisy nods her head, taking that as a _yes._ “Cool.”

Daisy sits, staring out the glass at the night sky. She has a lot to think about, after today.

“You never said,” May interrupts her thoughts. Daisy glances over.

“Never said what?”

“How old you are, really. There’s a bet going.”

“What did you put down?”

“Nothing. I don’t bet.”

“Oh,” Daisy looks away from May then, briefly wondering if she should tell the truth. She wonders what May was doing, that many years ago – if she was mourning the loss that was yet to come in the form of Daisy, or if she was just living her life. Daisy decides to look at May, to watch her as she tells her. “Do you really want to know?”

“Sure. Tell me.” May says, not looking at Daisy, voice almost completely bored, but with an…edge. Daisy feels her heart thudding her chest and hopes that May really is her mother.

“August eighth, nineteen ninety-seven. I just turned sixteen a couple of weeks ago.”

May actually looks at her, their eyes meeting. There’s a long silence, before a knock comes from the door. It opens, Jemma poking her head in.

“Daisy! We’re playing scrabble! Do you-”

“Out,” May interrupts. Jemma’s eyes widen. May glares at her. “ _Now._ ”

“O-okay,” Jemma stutters, bewildered. She shuts the door and May puts the plane on autopilot, leaning back in her chair.

“You’re her, aren’t you?” Daisy questions. “We really are May Squared.”

May gives a scoff of laughter. “That man. You’ve known the entire time, haven’t you?”

“More of a guess. You were the closest that matched her- _your,_ description.” Daisy pulls the sleeves of her shirt down past her fingers, holding them tightly, nervous. May’s practically admitted it, but…but Daisy wants to _hear_ her say it.

“Did you keep Julie as your middle name?”

“Yeah,” Daisy breathes. “Daisy Julie…May. I always thought it was just a name they’d given me at random, but then Matt actually gave me my file and your signature was at the bottom-”

“I signed it? God, I can’t even remember, now. All I was focused on was- was _you_.” May looks at Daisy, eyes locking on her. “Five and a half pounds. The nurses were worried.” Daisy drinks it all in, glued to May’s voice. “Your hair was darker. You look like Coulson now, with the blonde.”

Daisy splutters. “ _Coulson_ is my dad?”

May raises an eyebrow. “You think I would have let him push me into becoming the pilot of this thing if we didn’t have a legitimate history, romantic or otherwise? He doesn’t know, before you ask. Never has and at this point, I’d like you to leave the telling to me, if that ever happens.”

“If-” Daisy struggles with the concept. “No offence, but I’ve been kind of waiting to meet you both for sixteen years.”

May glares lightly. “When it comes to me, I don’t care. Coulson, however, is special. You will _not_ tell him, are we clear on that?”

“But-”

“But nothing,” May interrupts. “One of the reasons you’re on the Bus is because Phil doesn’t know what to do with a minor who won’t tell him who she is. If I have to, I’ll take responsibility for you and send you to my mothers and if you even _try_ to do something she doesn’t like, you’ll find out why the hell I’m so badass.”

Daisy, at this point is half-outraged, half-excited because _what?_ May can’t _do_ that – but also, _grandmother. A **grandmother**_. Daisy has a grandmother _._

Another knock comes from the door. “ _May? Daisy?_ ” Coulson calls through the door. Daisy all at once becomes terrified, outrage dying as she realises that _Agent Phil Coulson_ is her father and he is right outside that door. “ _Simmons was worried, mostly over Daisy’s wellbeing. Can I come in?_ ”

“No,” May and Daisy say in sync.

“… _okay? Now I’m really worried. You haven’t banded together, have you? I think that would be vaguely alarming._ ” There’s a long silence, before May speaks, loud enough for Daisy to hear.

“Go wait in your bunk. I’m going to have a word with Coulson.”

“Really?” Daisy hisses, getting up, adrenaline surging through her veins. “Are you-”

“Go,” May directs her sharply and Daisy goes, pausing in front of the door before opening it. Coulson blinks at her amiably, if a little confusedly.

“May wants to talk to you,” Daisy says, before darting past him, turning the corner into the kitchen. She waits until hearing the door shut to return to it, pressing her ear up against the crack.

No _way_ is she missing this.

* * *

“What do you want to talk to me about?”

Phil watches Melinda almost abstractly as she motions for him to sit. They’ve known each other so long now and Phil is still completely obsessed with her. Following her direction, Phil waits for her to speak. She’s quiet for a few minutes.

Eventually, she reaches into her pocket, taking out her SHIELD ID. Phil furrows his brow, watching as she runs her nail along the seam, digging deep enough inside Phil worries that she’s going to need a new ID. But then Melinda pulls out a folded piece of card and hands it to him. Phil takes it. The card is old and he can see a date – March 3rd, 1997. He unfolds the card.

It’s a picture.

A picture of a baby in utero – an ultrasound scan. Phil blanks, staring at it before quickly looking to Melinda.

“Is this yours?”

“From sixteen years ago,” Melinda avoids looking at him, gripping her ID tightly. “Daisy’s mine, Phil. My daughter.”

The words don’t sit right in his head. _Daisy’s mine, Phil._ It’s a strange notion and Phil looks at Melinda in confusion, her statement slowly sinking in as she continues looking at him with a tight expression.

“…congratulations?” he offers, tentative, wondering who the father is. _It could be me,_ Phil thinks with a jolt. _We slept together in the mid-nineties, that one time._ “Who-”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Melinda cuts him off and his heart sinks. _Not me, then._ Phil immediately mourns the possibility that Daisy could be his daughter. “I just- I don’t want her to get hurt. I want her safe.”

“Do you want her off the Bus?” Phil questions, frowning slightly. “She’s good, here, May. We’ve got a good team, here.”

“I don’t know. I’ve already threatened to send her to live with my mother, if she causes trouble.”

“Lian would love that, she’d spoil her rotten,” Phil immediately says. “Wasn’t she excited about you having kids, when you and Andrew-”

“She was.”

Phil shuts his mouth, inwardly cursing. _Shouldn’t have mentioned Andrew._ Melinda puts her wallet away, leaving him with the ultrasound. He reaches to hand it back, treating it gently, but Melinda shakes her head.

“Keep it.”

“Keep it?”

“Keep it,” she confirms. “I’ve got another one somewhere safe.”

Phil wonders where that is, even as he nods, looking at the photo for another moment longer before tucking it into the inside pocket of his jacket. It strikes him as odd that she’d let him keep it, but then again, Melinda is a private person – perhaps he’s the first person she’s even _told._

“Thank-you for trusting me with this,” he says, sending her a small smile. Melinda looks like she wants to speak, but both of them quiet as muffled voices come from outside the cockpit doors. Phil raises an eyebrow, pinpointing Ward’s voice as the loudest over a quieter, muffled voice than is most probably Daisy’s. “I wonder how long she was eavesdropping.”

“The entire time, probably,” Melinda gets up, opening the door. Daisy and Ward are there, squabbling. “Go and play scrabble. We’re coming to join you in a moment.”

“…okay,” Daisy says, flushing, eyes darting to Phil. “You didn’t tell him.”

“No, I didn’t. Now _go,_ ” Melinda says and as Daisy makes a face that looks like the visible definition of protest, Phil can actually see the resemblance. “Daisy…”

“…fine,” Daisy mutters after a long moment, stomping off. Ward is left there in the corridor, looking between the two women.

“Am I missing something?” the agent asks.

“May Squared,” Phil says to him, shrugging. “It’s a mystery.”

“Go,” Melinda orders him away, waiting until Ward has walked off to turn back to Phil. “I hate you for coining that term.”

“What? May Squared?” Phil protests, “It’s a great name!”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I _do,_ ” Phil says, before getting up. “Scrabble, then? Team bonding? You and Daisy can be on the same team and everything.”

Melinda rolls her eyes, lips turning up and he can see more of the woman he knew before Bahrain happened. As they leave the cockpit, Phil wonders how long it will take for Melinda to find herself again – and if Daisy will help her with that.

In his pocket, the ultrasound sits, an ever-present burning over his heart.


End file.
